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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28290936">The Christmas Truce</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmackTheDevil/pseuds/SmackTheDevil'>SmackTheDevil</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The J2 Christmas Anthology [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath, Alternate Universe - World War I, Belgium (Country), Boys Kissing, Christmas, Christmas Truce of 1914, England (Country), Falling In Love, Football | Soccer, Germany, Happy Ending, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Sexuality Crisis, Smoking, War, World War I</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:02:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,383</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28290936</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmackTheDevil/pseuds/SmackTheDevil</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen lives a comfortable and happy life working as a stable boy for a big house in the English countryside. When war breaks out in 1914, he and many thousands of men like him are sent abroad to fight for King and country. The war throws up horror and fear but also changes the direction of Jensen's life when he meets German soldier Jared during well-documented Christmas Truce.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The J2 Christmas Anthology [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2036215</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>122</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Christmas Truce</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>'The Christmas Truce' is story eleven of The J2 Christmas Anthology, a series of twelve festive short stories for the holiday season!</p>
<p>I have tried to cover as many tropes, kinks, tag preferences in this series as I can, so I hope there will be something</p>
<p>I appreciate that J2 have names that do not fit their characters in this alternative universe, I usually manage to explain them away when writing period fics but this time, I just went with it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jensen had never thought about travelling outside of England, it wasn’t something that people of his class ever did. Travel on big ships to far off places was something reserved for the toffs and he only knew that because his father had been one of the groundsman of the grand house which supported his village since he was a lad himself. It was a good place to be, living and working under the shadow of the family of Foxhill Manor because being in service was an honour and about the best work someone like Jensen could get; the wage was decent and if you worked well it was a job for life and that wasn’t something to be sniffed at, even if he was just a simple stable hand. But when war broke out in 1914, the air was thick with uncertainty; would young men like Jensen ever go back home and escape the conflict with their lives.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <i>December 1914, Ypres, Belgium</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The war had felt sudden and the recruiting of soldiers with little to no combat experience was rushed. Jensen had been plucked from his simple life along with thousands of other young men, kitted out in heavy, itchy wool and armed with a bayonet he had mere days to learn how to use. It felt unnatural upon first handling but soon became something of a crutch, something to cling to during those rare quiet moments where nothing but fear was felt. No one was allowed to show just how scared they were, no one liked a coward during conflict and so stolen moments in wet trenches while gunfire echoed around him to cry and pray were done in private. A minute or so to sob until Jensen was clear enough to once again do his bit for king and country. While the ground under his feet was wet and boggy, the ground above the sodden trenches was solid with December frost. No one talked about Christmas, at least not at length unless they were lucky enough to find themselves tucked away with their captain as they played servant. Jensen knew that it was close and that his mother and father would set out a place for him at their modest table. Reminiscing about a time without war felt like a dream and so far removed from Jensen’s reality that he took little comfort from the memory. Dreams are easily forgotten. </p>
<p>The two days before Christmas, the fighting had been relentless, the weather harsh and the midwinter days short and bleak. The blessing of short days meant little as the fighting seemed more ferocious as both sides took advantage of what little daylight they had been given. At 7AM on Christmas Day, the gunfire petered out as dawn came and the first Winter snow started to fall. Jensen’s feet had started to itch and feel sore as the night had progressed, having sat crouched in the trench since dawn the day before; his back ached too and a sharp pain in his temple had been troubling him all day. The night was eerie in the trenches, the pockets of silence washing over No Man’s Land even more so, that too felt like a dream but it was no time to sleep nor take comfort from. It was a bitter war in more ways than one. </p>
<p>Jensen sat huddled inside a dug out, lit by a single candle   and shared with three other men. Boys who had come from similar backgrounds as Jensen, thrown into war from idyllic country lives or busy cities that thrived. The men passed around weak cups of tea and shared tobacco. Jensen had never smoked before the war but was given a pack of loose rolling tobacco as part of his rations, conflict gave him a taste for it even when the tobacco was too damp to smoke.</p>
<p>“You want some of mine, Ackles?” Artie, an East End boy with one of those hearts gold asked as he watched Jensen suck on a hand rolled cigarette too stubborn with damp to ignite.</p>
<p>“Yes, thank you.” Jensen nodded, tucking his cigarette away in the hope that it would dry enough to smoke some other day.</p>
<p>“You wanna keep your baccy up here, mate.” Artie said, tapping the left pocket of his wool coat.</p>
<p>“I did, I think it got wet when I fell during that skirmish this afternoon.”</p>
<p>“Bloody Germans, they’re ain’t no let up wiv’ ‘em.”</p>
<p>“It’s not their fault.” Jensen said quietly, taking a dry freshly rolled cigarette from Artie’s grubby hand. “Thanks.” He lit the cigarette, taking a deep drag which felt like bliss before following it with a large gulp of luke warm tea. “We’re all just doing what we’re told at the end of the day.”</p>
<p>“What did you do before the war then?” Artie asked, deciding not to get into a fight with one of own about the unfairness of war.</p>
<p>“I was in service.” Jensen nodded.</p>
<p>“What like a butler or summink?” </p>
<p>“No, nothing that fancy, Art.” Jensen chuckled. “I worked the stables. My father, he’s a groundsman there too.”</p>
<p>“You ain’t with the mounted division?”</p>
<p>“Do you see a horse anywhere near here?” Jensen smirked, Artie laughed.</p>
<p>“Fair point, mate.”</p>
<p>“What did you do?”</p>
<p>“Oh y’know. A bit a this, a bit a that.”</p>
<p>“I see.” Jensen grinned knowingly.</p>
<p>“I ain’t no crook, Ackles. Don’t get no wrong ideas, but I ain’t no angel neither.”</p>
<p>“Maybe being here is a way of redeeming yourself.”</p>
<p>“I’m goin’ back an ‘ero, ain’t I?” Artie winked.</p>
<p>“I think we’re all heroes. Or fools. This war is foolish.” Jensen sighed.</p>
<p>“All wars are bloody foolish and if I-” Artie paused, head cocked, listening which made Jensen sit up with guarded fear.</p>
<p>“What is it?”</p>
<p>“Can you ‘ear that?”</p>
<p>“Hear what?” Jensen frowned, sitting up and leaning out of the dug out.</p>
<p>“It’s singin’.” </p>
<p>Jensen blinked as he strained his ears and then watched as the men still huddled in the trenches started moving toward the front.</p>
<p>“I can hear it. It’s the German’s, they’re singing.” Jensen said, holding his cigarette between his teeth and ducking out of the dug out. </p>
<p>“I know that song but they ain’t singin’ it right.” Artie said, placing his Brodie helmet on his head and following behind Jensen.</p>
<p> A group of men, including Jensen and Artie gathered together, listening to the soft singing that floated across the frosty ground of No Man’s Land. No one dared lift their head to see, instead they listened as their enemies sung their own version of ‘Silent Night’. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <i>“Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Alles schläft; einsam wacht”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Nur das traute hochheilige Paar.”</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jensen rested his chin against his hands as he leaned against his bayonet, quietly enjoying the singing even though it made him feel uncomfortable in many ways. Artie moved around Jensen, hunched and pushing himself to the front.</p>
<p>“I’m gonna ‘ave a look.” Artie said, adjusting his helmet.</p>
<p>“No, don’t. It could be a trap.”</p>
<p>“Look, Cliff is.” Artie said, nudging Jensen with his elbow.</p>
<p>“Oi, you gotta see this.” Cliff said, another East End lad with a fearless demeanour. “They got candles up an’ Christmas trees.”</p>
<p>“Have they?” The buzz of men around Jensen and Artie moved forward as the singing continued and they one by one daringly stuck their heads over the trench as a few of their own further along started to sing along in English.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <i>“Silent night, holy night,”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Shepherds quake at the sight”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Glories stream from heaven afar.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Heav’nly hosts sing Alleluia.”</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The singing caught on until Jensen and Artie were joining in, causing the Germans to falter in surprise as the voices mingled in the air across No Man’s Land.</p>
<p>“Frohe Weihnachten!” </p>
<p>“What was that?” Artie frowned, as the greeting was yelled over the trenches.</p>
<p>“Merry Christmas.” One of their captains muttered. “They’re saying, Merry Christmas.”</p>
<p>“Merry Christmas!” Artie yelled back which made Jensen slap a hand over his friends mouth which Artie tore away. </p>
<p>“One of them is coming over, chaps. Hold steady.” The captain warned. </p>
<p>The German soldier stepped over the trench in between the small firs which had been set up along the top, holding a candle aloft as he held up both arms.</p>
<p>“Nicht schießen! Nicht schießen!”</p>
<p>“Hold fire.” The captain said, eyes wide as he watched over the trenches. </p>
<p>“Captain speaks Kraut.” Artie grumbled.</p>
<p>“Shush.” Jensen frowned, finally finding the guts to look over the trench as the German soldier was slowly joined by his comrades. “They’re all coming over, Artie.”</p>
<p>“Wir halten zu Weihnachten an, ja?” The soldier continued to walk until he was in the middle of No Man’s Land, alone but for a few soldiers straggling behind him. “Christmas.” He said, visibly shaking. “We don’t fight.” The soldier said earnestly in very good English. “No arms!” </p>
<p>“They’re unarmed.” The captain muttered before taking a chance and climbing over onto the snow covered ground. He walked slowly toward the soldier, one hand outstretched. “Frohe Weihnachten.”</p>
<p>“Do you want to go over?” Artie asked, turning to Jensen as they watched in disbelief as more of their men disappeared over the trenches to greet the German soldiers who were now taking in turns to shake hands with their captain.</p>
<p>“Yes, alright. Let’s go.” Jensen nodded, climbing over onto the solid, frozen ground. He stumbled a little, feeling strange not to be clutching his bayonet.</p>
<p>The conversations around him were oddly jovial despite the language barrier, Jensen knew very little German, and only phrases connected to war but he supposed he knew ‘Merry Christmas’ now and bravely stepped up to a tall, quiet looking young man who was stood alone at the back of the crowd.</p>
<p>“Frohe Weihnachten.” Jensen said, offering his hand.</p>
<p>“Frohe, uh Merry Christmas?” The young man nodded, shaking Jensen’s hand.</p>
<p>“Yes.” Jensen smiled, which felt oddly out of place as he looked into the eyes of the enemy. “I don’t speak German.”</p>
<p>“I speak English, a little.” The young man said, offering Jensen a cigarette. “Uh, what is your, uh name?” He laughed.</p>
<p>“Jensen.”</p>
<p>“Jared.” </p>
<p>“Jared.” Jensen nodded, taking the cigarette then glancing around him as the men mingled. There was still caution on both sides and no one had not noticed the few dead bodies around them either. Jensen half heard a conversation between his captain and one of the German officers about how it was only right that they should each bury their dead. Others were laughing, sharing rations, cigarettes and admiring buttons on uniforms and photographs of sweethearts left behind at home. Jensen and Jared stood silently as they smoked, shivering against the cold. “Do you have, uh liebe, um-” Jared chuckled. “Uh, a girl?”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Jensen laughed softly, looking over at Artie who was showing a photograph of the girl he was going to marry after the war was over to the German private he was trying to communicate with. “No. Do you?” He gestured.</p>
<p>“Nein. No.” Jared shook his head. “We have no one to fight for, not in our hearts, huh?” He nodded.</p>
<p>“My mother and father. I fight for them and everyone else in mu country.” Jensen said plainly, a comment which made Jared look instantly remorseful.</p>
<p>“Ja.” Jared nodded. “I do not want it, this fighting.”</p>
<p>“No one does.” Jensen said softly.</p>
<p>“Um, we go and sit?” Jared said, nodding toward a neat row of small pines which looked as if they had been planted there as a feature for people to rest against.</p>
<p>“Yes.” Jensen nodded, knowing that he wouldn’t get into trouble for straying too far. They were both still visible and out in the open but the trees had a calmness to them. Stoic and still in amongst the brutality of war. Jensen slumped down against the trunk of the tree, which was extra hard with the cold. The ground was solid and frozen but he welcomed something to lean on that wasn’t wet like the trenches. “I miss my father’s armchair.” He chuckled lightly, adjusting his coat as he sat and tipped his head against the trunk.</p>
<p>“Comfort.” Jared said simply. </p>
<p>“Yes, comfort.” Jensen took a deep drag of his cigarette and turned his head to look at Jared who was watching him with vested interest. </p>
<p>“Um, you have-” Jared faltered as he tried to find the word for green. “-grün, um your eyes.” He said, gesturing at his own face.</p>
<p>“Grün?” Jensen frowned for a second. “Oh, green eyes, yes.” He nodded with soft smile.</p>
<p>“Ja, green. I have never seen.” Jared grinned.</p>
<p>“Irish blood.” Jensen smiled.</p>
<p>“I know Irish.” Jared nodded. “The English, I think are not so nice to the Irish.”</p>
<p>“No, we’re not. <i>They’re</i> not. It’s not <i>my</i> fight.” Jensen sighed as he looked back at Jared who was still, well gazing at him. It could have been mistaken as pure interest. It was likely that before the war, Jared hadn’t travelled out of his country and was merely curious to meet a foreigner but Jensen knew the look. That forbidden look that he had been denying for so many years. It had been James, the first footman who worked inside Foxhill Manor while Jensen toiled in the stables, whose eyes had been caught by Jensen’s handsome face. James had propositioned Jensen, kissed him like only married men and women kissed. Jensen had been terrified but his body and mind reacted so violently to James’ advances that it had plagued him and riddled him with guilt ever since. No matter how pretty some of the maids were who often walked past Jensen, giggling at his attractiveness, not one of them made him feel like James had made him feel. Jensen hated it, he prayed every night that the foul feelings would go away but praying only seemed to strengthen them</p>
<p>“This is not our fight.” Jared said deeply, resting his chin on his knee. “We are all, um we follow the um-”</p>
<p>“Orders?” Jensen offered.</p>
<p>“Ja.” Jared nodded turning to look at Jensen. “You, I like.”</p>
<p>“You don’t even know me.” Jensen chuckled weakly. </p>
<p>“I like what I see.” Jared said plainly, taking a pause.<br/>
“Weihnachten.” He then muttered, scoffing as he looked up at the dark sky as the snow fell around them. </p>
<p>“They have a huge tree in the house at Christmas, the children hang the decorations and light candles. We sing carols on Christmas Eve and our m’lord gives us all gifts. It’s always warm in that house, it’s so big yet always so warm.” Jensen said softly, taking a long drag on his cigarette as he reminisced. “I don’t go in there too often, there’s no need. Not like James.” He sighed.</p>
<p>“Who is James?” Jared said softly.</p>
<p>“No one.” Jensen shook his head, glancing at Jared. “He’s no one.”</p>
<p>“You speak fond of ‘no one’. You say his name um, like uh, liebe.”</p>
<p>“Ah.” Jensen chuckled lightly, understanding the word.<br/>
“Perhaps.”</p>
<p>“It is not so different.” Jared shrugged.</p>
<p>“Hm.” Jensen inhaled sharply. </p>
<p>“See?” Jared said, glancing across No Man’s Land, at that point not living up to its name as the air was filled with chatter and laughter.</p>
<p>“See what?” Jensen frowned, leaning back into the tree as Jared surged forward, pressing an urgent kiss against Jensen’s lips. </p>
<p>“I know men like you.” Jared muttered. “I am same, ja?”</p>
<p>“Hm.” Jensen nodded but tugged at the hand wrapped around the collar of his coat. “Not now, I’ll get a court martial.” He hissed.</p>
<p>“Then when?” Jared mumbled. “Wir könnten sterben.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know what means.”</p>
<p>“Die. We could die and then what, huh?” </p>
<p>“We go to Hell.” Jensen snapped.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oi, you fellas gonna come make up the numbers for a game of football?!” Artie yelled, immediately breaking the gaze between Jensen and Jared.</p>
<p>“Yes, of course.” Jensen stood up and flicked his cigarette to the ground. “Football?” He said, offering a hand to Jared who was still seated and staring into the middle distance.</p>
<p>“Ja.” Jared nodded, slapping a hand against Jensen’s as he was pulled up. “But first, tell me your home. Uh-” He frowned as the word evaded. “Your uh, number. Home?”</p>
<p>“My address?”</p>
<p>“Ja, address. If we live, I will come find you.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know.” Jensen chuckled lightly.</p>
<p>“Come on, we ain’t got all day!” Artie yelled impatiently.</p>
<p>“Alright, just a moment.” Jensen called back. He pulled a small notebook and a pencil from inside his coat, scribbling his address down and tearing the page from the book. “Here.”</p>
<p>“Danke.” Jared nodded.</p>
<p>“You’re a dreamer.” Jensen said, shaking his head. “I don’t see the point of it.”</p>
<p>“Hope.” Jared said, folding the piece of paper and kissing it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jensen had no recollection of seeing anyone with a football in the trenches, and had no idea where it had come from, assuming that perhaps it belonged to one of the German soldiers. It was caked in mud, heavy with water and had seen better days, a metaphor if ever there was one. Up until that point, Jensen and most of the men were drained of energy but the football match seemed to invigorate in some ways. It was friendly and sporting, fair and equal. Jensen tried his very best to keep his mind on the game but Jared was there passing him on the makeshift field every so often and brushing past him, disguising the touches as nothing but innocent football tackles. Germany won the match, 6-4 but there was little celebration as gunfire echoed around the men, abruptly ending their Christmas truce.   Jared was stood with his uniform open by the German trenches as his men moved around him, he glanced across No Man’s Land as people scattered, catching Jensen’s eye. Jared nodded, then pressed a hand over this coat pocket. Jensen could do little else but nod back as he was pulled back over the trenches by Artie as the war resumed and the  men went back to being reluctant heroes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <i>December 1922, London, England</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Great War had changed the world, and its effects were still being felt during the early years of the twenties. Men had come back broken, if they had come back at all and the role of women shifted a little away from a world solely dominated by men. For Jensen, however the war had given him opportunity and a confidence that had evaded him as a younger man. An inheritance had lead him to leave the village he had grown up in and with no one of note to keep him there, in 1920 he left to seek his fortune on the gold paved streets of London. After his parents had died, they had left their home and all its belongings to their only son. For Jensen, there was little sentimentality attached to the house and the things within it but he discovered that his father had been quite a collector of antiques. Where Mr. Ackles senior had acquired them from was unknown to his son, but the collection was enough, along with his inheritance to start an antique dealership in the big city. Its success was enough to buy Jensen a comfortable flat in Fulham and strike up friendships with London’s elite, the ‘bright young things’ whose lives made the daily gossip columns with tales of debauchery and scandal. His pals all came from old money and were modern enough in their thinking to accept Jensen and his new money into the fold. His pass? A handsome face. A far cry from his humble roots back in the countryside, the war had turned Jensen into an ambitious, out-going young man who had learned through conflict and death that life was too short to spend it resting on your laurels. Jensen was one of the lucky ones because he still remembered the day as clear as if it had happened seconds ago when Artie was shot in front of his eyes. Those horrors never went away but Jensen turned those painful memories into a vibrant energy because it was better than the alternative. Jensen still thought about Jared and that kiss every day, without out fail.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Work for Jensen wasn’t hard but it was time consuming, unlike his friends who had nothing to tie them down, Jensen had to work for the money he spent because weekends were the only time he had spare. The concept of the ‘weekend’ had taken Jensen’s privileged circle of friends by surprise, every day of the week was a weekend for those who had nothing better to do but spend, spend, spend. Jensen was all theirs from Friday closing time until the early hours of Monday morning and the social scene of London loved having him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You haven’t had me yet, darling.” Spencer, Jensen’s first contact in London and close friend was stood behind the object of his affection, looking at him upside down.</p>
<p>“That’s because you’re obnoxious and about as subtle as Cordelia’s fashion sense.” Jensen frowned, flicking a gaudy purple feather which sat tall and proud on the hat of his other friend, ‘daughter of an Earl’ Cordelia Fenwick.</p>
<p>“They write about my clothes in the newspapers.” Cordelia sniffed.</p>
<p>“Yes, dear but only to make fun.” Spencer smirked. “What is it today, Cordy? Demented peacock? Fire in the clothes factory?”</p>
<p>“You are both frightful and I hate you equally.”</p>
<p>“You look lovely.” Jensen twinkled, clicking his fingers for another bottle of champagne as they held court at The Embassy Club on Old Bond Street. A popular haunt for anyone of note.</p>
<p>“Don’t you think this place has become a bore?” Spencer said, sitting himself down next to Jensen.</p>
<p>“You say that about every club we got to, Spenny.” </p>
<p>“Yes, well. I found the perfect little haunt, just ripe for boys like us, Jensen.” Spencer grinned.</p>
<p>“That sounds potentially arresting.” Jensen frowned. “And not in the best sense.”</p>
<p>“No, no. Trust me, darling. It’s discreet, trés exclusive and has a selection of <i>the</i> most willing European boys-”</p>
<p>“Keep your voice down.” Jensen hissed, not as free and easy with his scandalous sexuality as his friend.</p>
<p>“Here.” Spencer smirked, waving Jensen’s protestation away and handing him a small card. “You would get in on looks alone and perhaps a percentage of the fee.”</p>
<p>“So it’s a brothel.” Jensen muttered, snatching the card from Spencer’s hand. </p>
<p>“No. Well, perhaps. A little. You pay to join but the fun inside is free. Full of old perverts, darling but I’m sure the boys would be thrilled to see a man like you.” Spencer beamed.</p>
<p>“Jensen wouldn’t be seen dead in place like that.” Cordelia sighed. “You’re a romantic, aren’t you, darling?”</p>
<p>“Romance never once got your tallywhacker nibbled on.” Spencer said pointedly. </p>
<p>“Well, if you keep that talk up, you can write to me about romance from your prison cell.” Jensen said, tucking the card inside his jacket pocket, only out of politeness.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jensen <i>was</i> a romantic and no matter how deep he had been dragged into Spencer and Cordelia’s world of day drinking, nightclubs and spontaneous weekends of scandal on the French Riviera, Jensen was steadfast in his attitude toward his sexuality. Prison terrified him and he had worked hard to build a business and a comfortable life for himself. Spencer could put it around London all he wanted but Jensen was more discerning, despite his still being a thirty-something virgin who often craved the touch of a man so deeply he could have cried.</p>
<p>The card for the club sat on the desk in his living room for three days and Jensen did wonder about it whenever he sat down to write a letter. He wondered if just one night would sate the needs he often felt or if one taste would send him on a downward spiral and expose him to the more innocent world around him. It wasn’t until Christmas Eve that Jensen seriously considered using the dubious club. Spencer and Cordelia had gone away for Christmas, leaving Jensen alone which he always insisted on because that time of year did nothing more than set him in a melancholy mood. Jensen missed the big Christmas celebrations at Foxhill Manor and ever since the truce and Jared, the season had never felt the same. </p>
<p>Jensen helped himself to a large glass of scotch from his cocktail trolley as he looked at himself in the mirror above his mantelpiece, all dressed up in a smart dinner jacket and taking Spencer up on his offer. Jensen wasn’t in the right mood, he never would be in the right frame of mind to visit such a place but loneliness had got him and untapped desires felt like they were taking over his mind. It was snowing outside as he wandered to the window, the streetlamps were dull and the sound of the occasional motorcar was muffled as they trundled past on the snow covered road. It was always quiet where Jensen lived but he knew the neighbours well so he was obviously alerted when he saw the figure of a man idling and smoking underneath the light of the streetlamp on the opposite side of the road. The man loitered there, hunched away from the cold and seemed to be carrying a suitcase. It was an odd sight for 9 o’clock on a snowy Christmas Eve. Jensen thought that he could well be a burglar, watching houses as people left them to visit church or enjoy late night Christmas drinks at the pub but he didn’t seem to be looking anywhere except up and right into Jensen’s window.</p>
<p>Unnerved, Jensen drank the remainder of his scotch and dressed in his evening coat and a light scarf before calling for a cab. The night was bitter as he stepped outside, which made him temporarily rethink his plans until the man from under the streetlamp, stepped out and approached Jensen hurriedly which made him stumble back into wall outside his flat but then gasp as the man’s face came into view from underneath his hat.</p>
<p>“Jared?” </p>
<p>“Yes. It’s me, I knew I would find you.” Jared said, advancing on Jensen and dropping his case on the floor. “It is you, it really is you.”</p>
<p>“I-” Jensen started, blinking with disbelief. “-I don’t understand. I-”</p>
<p>“It is cold, ja?” Jared bit his lip but he was right, it was freezing and he looked stiff, almost blue with cold.</p>
<p>“Yes. I don’t-”</p>
<p>“Please. I have come so far. I have travelled so far to find you.”</p>
<p>“It’s been eight years.” Jensen muttered, dumbstruck. </p>
<p>“Things are not so simple for a man in a country who waged a war, I-” Jared started, his teeth chattering as Jensen’s cab pulled up beside them. “-you are engaged?”</p>
<p>“I am, yes.” Jensen frowned, still in shock.</p>
<p>“Are you gettin’ in, mate?” The cab driver said, leaning out of his window.</p>
<p>“Please.” Jared begged.</p>
<p>“Um, one moment.” Jensen nodded, moving around Jared then paying the cab driver handsomely and offering his apologies but the money appeared to be apology enough.</p>
<p>“Thank you, sir. And season’s greetings to you both.” The cab driver smiled.</p>
<p>“Yes, happy Christmas.” Jensen said tightly before turning to Jared. “Do you want to come inside?”</p>
<p>“Ja. Uh, yes. Please.” Jared nodded, picking his suitcase up from the ground. The pair were silent as they walked up to Jensen’s flat, who unlocked the door and held it open for Jared.</p>
<p>“After you.” </p>
<p>“Danke.” Jared nodded, stepping inside and politely standing by the door as he waited for Jensen to close it and take off his coat.</p>
<p>“I don’t quite understand what is happening.” Jensen muttered, eyeing Jared with vague suspicion.</p>
<p>“I can explain.”</p>
<p>“I wish you would.” Jensen said, wincing as he noted he had come across a little rude. “Would you like a scotch?”</p>
<p>“Uh-”</p>
<p>“Whiskey."</p>
<p>“Yes, please. I am very cold.” </p>
<p>Jensen nodded, walking through to the living room and gesturing for Jared to take a seat while he poured two large drinks. Jared removed his hat and coat, laying them on the sofa before rubbing his stiff, almost blue hands together. Jensen turned away from his cocktail trolley almost gasping at Jared’s appearance.</p>
<p>“Heavens.” Jensen chuckled lightly, handing Jared his glass. “You look, well.” </p>
<p>“Well.” Jared repeated. “This is polite Englishman not saying what he really feels, huh?” He chuckled. </p>
<p>“How did you find me?” Jensen said, slumping on the sofa next to Jared. </p>
<p>“It is a long story.”</p>
<p>“I’m listening.” Jensen said, unable to drag his eyes away from Jared. “It’s been eight years.”</p>
<p>“Yes, you have said already.” Jared laughed, taking a sip from his glass.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, I think I’m in shock.”</p>
<p>“You drink, I talk, ja?”</p>
<p>“Yes, please do.”</p>
<p>“After the war, my country was a mess. It is not different for any other country except there was much shame there. Me, I felt shame but I held onto the truce. And you. Hope.” Jared smiled.</p>
<p>“Hope, yes.” Jensen nodded slowly.</p>
<p>“I forget as things changed for the better but I sometimes remember you then I forget once again. In summer I find the address, after all these years. And I wonder about Jensen and his green eyes. There is nothing keeping me in my town, so I ask around for people who can give me passage. I know even after so long we are not welcome here so I-”</p>
<p>“You’re here illegally?” </p>
<p>“Yes.” Jared nodded. “It is how important I am to find you. I went to the village and they say you have gone but I raise suspicious but only one person would tell me.”</p>
<p>“Robert, in the pub?”</p>
<p>“Yes!” Jared gasped.</p>
<p>“Robert is an old friend from my school days, we still keep in touch, he’s a very good man.”</p>
<p>“Yes, good man. He gave me your address here in London.”</p>
<p>“I like the way you say London.” Jensen sighed softly as something bubbled up between them.</p>
<p>“I came to London.” Jared said pointedly with a slight smirk. “And I see your home but I was scared to speak to you. I watched you for a day, maybe two. You look rich, very different to the soldier.”</p>
<p>“I’m not rich.” Jensen said modestly. “I got lucky, or unlucky. That depends on how one views inheritance.”</p>
<p>“I see.” Jared nodded. “So here, I am here.” </p>
<p>“Yes, you are.” </p>
<p>“I hope I did not spoil your night.”</p>
<p>“No, in fact you saved me.” Jensen chuckled lightly.</p>
<p>“You are not upset with me?”</p>
<p>“Upset? No, it’s very romantic. Um, that’s if your intentions are that?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” Jared nodded. “I would have asked you to run with me that day. Such small time with you, it is mad some would say.”</p>
<p>“Eight years and you never forgot.”</p>
<p>“Of course. You did not forget too.” Jared shrugged.</p>
<p>“Where are you staying?”</p>
<p>“Nowhere, no place. I, it was risk.”</p>
<p>“You can stay here, with me.” Jensen said, glancing at Jared’s now empty glass. “Another drink?”</p>
<p>“Ja, danke.” Jared nodded, curling a still cold hand around Jensen’s wrist. “Kiss me. My lips are cold but my heart is warm, you were hope, Jensen and I now I have found you, I cannot let my hope slip away again.”</p>
<p>“I haven’t kissed anyone else since you kissed me.”</p>
<p>“Then we know that this might be mad but it is true.”</p>
<p>Jensen placed the glasses on the side table next to the sofa then turned back to face Jared, leaning in and pressing himself against his body. It was a bite at first but it came naturally from Jensen as he gently sunk his teeth into Jared’s bottom lip, as if tasting him would prove that he really was real and not a figment of Jensen’s imagination. Jared bit back before they sunk into a deep, passionate kiss. </p>
<p>“I knew it was you.” Jared said in between grasping lips and Jensen’s tongue. “I knew it was you.”</p>
<p>“It’s me, my darling.” Jensen whispered, cupping Jared’s slowly warming face. “My God, you look beautiful. You did that day, you stood out like an angel in amongst the horrors.”</p>
<p>“See, hope.”</p>
<p>“Yes.” Jensen believed he had barely blinked from the moment Jared stepped out in front of him on the street to the moment right then, pressed up against his body. </p>
<p>“Let me stay, always.” Jared whispered.</p>
<p>“Forever.” Jensen nodded.</p>
<p>“Forever.”</p>
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